Determining the original owners of various trade goods takes a few days. Jorge helps immensely to keep some degree of order, but there are still expected mild quarrels over ownership. Still, it gets sorted out in a reasonable amount of time, and any discontent or anger fades away when people of the village see all of the trade goods we unload from inside our trading cart, let alone what we stuffed into our pocket storages where we could find room. Seeing the shock and surprise on people''s faces makes me, in turn, feel good–even though I probably shouldn''t, given what we think happened to the goods'' previous owners. But still, there is something to be said about the feeling of being a provider or an aid who isn''t afraid to travel for our village.


    When we''d finished sorting out the original trade items, Merrill announced herself and was left with just the new, freshly unloaded spoils. Merrill is one of the highest energy fey I''ve ever encountered; her vivid red hair is naturally in almost always wild ringlets, framing her face no matter the circumstance. She came to our village a few years ago and positively impacted the village as our leading trader. She speaks faster than anyone I''ve ever met, which doesn''t slow no matter who is at her trading shop.


    "OR-I-ON!"


    The high-pitched voice makes me slightly smile despite feeling gritty and rough from sweat. I wipe my arm across my face and turn in the direction that Merrill''s voice came from.


    "Hey, Meri."


    She prances up in front of me and starts to take stock of all the goods we''ve pulled out and piled up.


    "Wow, they said you brought home a lot, but I didn''t realize it was holy-crap-a-lot. This will be a lot to sell and trade."


    "Well, I''ll leave this in your more capable hands."


    I give her a little bit of a smile, tired as I am, trying to extricate myself from being drawn into a long conversation. I''m just looking forward to getting food and something cool to drink. Merrill clears her throat as I move away. I slowly turn around to see what she wants, and she gives me a lopsided grin with a hint of mischievousness.


    "What?"


    "I heard," her lips twist into a hopeful grin, "you guys found some wild reafans, traded two, and brought another back. Do you think you could convince Gallen to let me have it? You know, for trading purposes."


    "Come on, Meri," I groan. "I don''t make those decisions. You know who does." Everyone wants a reafan for one reason or another. Merrill huffs, and for a moment, I even thought she''d put her hands on each hip. She doesn''t, but she does churlishly mutter in response.


    "Everyone knows you can convince Hannah to do stuff around here. She adores you. Probably because you''d rather be in the forest like she would be."


    "That isn''t true at all. I don''t influence decisions; I go where they ask me to and hunt for the village. I like it that way." I give her a look, suggesting I''m not too fond of the implication of special treatment. Rather than get sucked into a disagreement with Merrill–which could wind up going on for hours–I hold my hands up.


    "I need to get some food and drink. I''m dying over here. I''ll let you get back to checking out all the goods we brought back. Jorge is holding the gasoline, so if you want any of the village''s stores, you''ll have to take it up with him."


    "Ugh, fiiiiiiiine." She whines at me in response, sounding far more childish than she is. I turn, unaffected by her attempts to convince me, and continue to the Forgetful Fox, our village''s only food and drink spot.


    Hours later, well-fed and watered, I find myself bartering for duck feathers from an old egg tender to make more arrows and prepare for… well, whatever. I don''t need to make more arrows, but making them with my hands genuinely soothes my mind. I can blank out entirely and just focus on the craftsmanship of each arrow I make. Sure, I could quickly get some from the human world by bartering with someone who regularly goes through seams, or I could get some the next time I go through one myself, but something about making my own truly resonates with my soul, for lack of a better phrase.


    I keep my face even as the woman I''m bartering with starts acting up in arms at my offer; it''s a time-honored tradition to barter for goods, with all the tips and tricks that come with it. After a while of a back and forth, I let the woman "talk me into" the price I''d already figured I''d pay, and as we sorted out the agreement, I could hear a disturbance nearby coming from the front of the village. I tell the woman I''ll be back to pick up the duck feathers later before jogging towards the noise of people from the village.


    I come to a dead stop as I round the nearest corner to me, where I can see directly towards our village''s entrance. There, at the open gates, is a sight I didn''t think I''d ever see in our nothing village. I''m struck stupid for a moment, but then I realize many of our people with bows, knives, and metal tools are slowly appearing around. From my belt I get the only thing I have available–a simple whittling knife–just in case it''s needed. Just a few feet from the entrance are six separate wiretails with riders. My eyes are likely wide as saucers–and I see plenty of others with the same reaction. Some part of me knows this is Aria, Lani, Khalil, and my fault, and immediately, I assume the worst–that we''ve done something that will cause us to be attacked.


    The wiretails are adults, all with lightly armored leather and fine cloth riding saddles, though the seats and designs for each are faintly different–likely chosen by the riders for comfort. As the wiretails look left and right, some stalk back and forth as if waiting for a command to attack. From where I stand, I can see the branding on their hindquarters, which marks them as owned by the Blackham tribe. The riders–with their layered light leather pieces on top of undershirts from human stores–are from the Blackham. As far as I can recall in my lifetime, we''ve never had one of the elite tribes that have their own cities visit us at our village; occasionally, we get traders from some of the wealthier tribes'' towns, like the Alvarado, but I can count on my hands how often that has happened.


    Finally, the front-most rider on a wiretail–black with orange and brown markings that travel horizontally down its sides towards its black, bristling tail–steps down from the back of the beast. No one is attacking, but neither is anyone speaking so far that I can tell. I start slowly moving toward the gathering, even though I''m barely armed. Having sharpened my eyesight instinctively, I study the details of the rider who had first stepped down to the ground as I draw nearer.


    The rider is a tall man with pale skin and–unsurprisingly–black hair, which is typical for the Blackham people. His hair is pulled back with a severe braided design, exposing ears that are only faintly tipped towards a point. He wears properly fitting, quality dark clothing underneath the few pieces of leather armor he''s wearing. It takes a while, but I finally realize that if this were a planned attack, they would undoubtedly be wearing something more protective–and the wiretails would probably be killing us all. There''s that too.


    On his right shoulder and strapped over his right bicep is a "scaled" and dyed black pauldron, with overlapping layers and leather folded spikes studded to each layer. It''s far more intimidating than protective, giving him the look of someone who wouldn''t necessarily be against violence should it arise. His hands are gloved, and around his waist is a thick black leather belt, slightly side-slung with a small quiver of crossbow bolts within grasping range. In the front and center is the symbol of the Blackham tribe: a golden insignia of a snarling wiretail, highlighted with some details in indigo.


    Now close enough to hear, I realize there''s a low conversation between one of the guards and the man. I let my eyesight fade to normal and instead look between the standoff. Around that same time, Jorge stalks with malevolent purpose to the front, carrying an ornate hammer half the size of his legs, with a thick sledgehammer head attached. I''ve never seen him carrying something like it, which concerns me greatly. Gripping my puny, whittling knife more tightly, I watch Jorge stop within a handful of paces from the pale man. The other five riders are still on their wiretails, which are growling and grumbling with some degree of irritation–likely at being held in place against their will. I catch a glimpse of Khalil passing behind one of the squat buildings, but he doesn''t see me.


    My attention returns to the drama unfolding front and center, and I listen as Jorge speaks with unrestrained anger.


    "What business do you have here, bringing those half-wild beasts into a village with weans and the old?!"


    I don''t know why I expected Jorge to be passive because his voice bristles with enmity. It''s hard for me to weigh what I know of him–the kind, compassionate man and Hannah''s chosen–against what I see now. He looks ready to use that battle-ready sledgehammer at his side, and his voice has an undercurrent of genuine menace. The pale rider immediately focuses on Jorge, correctly assuming that Jorge is a leader within the village.


    "Apologies, sir, truly. We were sent here immediately after receiving word from your village via reafan. We''ve been moving for two nights straight, and frankly, I made a poor judgment call of riding directly to your entrance."


    Jorge does not look mollified, and his voice is still laced with the venom of anger.


    "Apologies? That is all? I would have expected more from the mighty Blackham tribe."


    He lifts his sledgehammer and slaps its shaft into his other hand''s palm to emphasize his point. The gesture makes some riders tense up, and their wiretails growl and snarl at the object of attention: Jorge. I start to get a terrible feeling that this is about to get out of hand when another, cooler voice interjects.


    "Gentlemen. Let''s calm our tempers." Hannah continues speaking, walking past me and towards Jorge without breaking eye contact on the scene before us. "Clearly, there has been a little lapse in politeness, but we can all be civil here, can we not?"


    I shuffle forward so that I''m nearly standing directly next to Hannah. She turns her head slightly and gazes directly at me, ignoring the tiny whittling knife I grip.


    "Orion, fetch Khalil, Lani, and Aria. Return to my house with them. Along the way, send Gallen to the front here and have him see to the wiretails of our guests."


    Her tone, different than normal, brokers no disagreement. Not that I would, but I feel compelled to move when the words leave her lips. I tear my eyes away from the scene and slide my whittling knife away. Once done, I turn and jog in the direction I had spotted Khalil shortly before. After collecting him and finding Lani not far off, we three track down Aria, who we assume is sleeping in her small, simple cottage in the quieter area of our village.


    The area Aria''s place is located in is essentially where all of the moon-aligned fey have chosen to have their homes; the segregation isn''t forced, it just simply happened organically, and their area is quite cool and shaded with large, thick trees that have been encouraged to grow their boughs large and for shelter from the sun. While Lani knocks on the door, Khalil and I stand by, chatting about what we saw. With Aria in tow shortly after that, I tell them we''re supposed to go and wait at Hannah and Jorge''s home. I break away, explaining I need to tell Gallen to head up from the stables to the front gate and that I''ll meet up with them right afterward.


    It doesn''t take long to convince Gallen. If anything, he looked pretty excited to be able to temporarily stable wiretails and interact with them. Since the group of Blackham meant to come to Hannah and Jorge''s home, I waited for them at the stables. I don''t particularly want to have conversations with them, and they seem to have the same mindset regarding me.


    Nevertheless, I offered to take them to Jorge and Hannah''s house so they wouldn''t have to ask for directions. They agreed, and I set out in the lead. As we walk, the pale man who initially spoke with Hannah introduces himself as "Corporal Kline" and his second in command as "Cass" (undoubtedly short for Cassandra).


    Cassandra appears as a pale and creamy-skinned young woman with frosty, pale-golden hair braids, seafoam-colored eyes, and a wiry-type physical build. Her ropey, compact muscles look like she has trained to survive the elements rather than following a weight-lifting routine. Cassandra doesn''t say anything when she''s introduced, but she shakes my hand when I offer to do so. Her unexpectedly cold grip is far stronger than I could have anticipated based on her size, and her pale, seafoam eyes feel like they could transfix me with or without my input. I retrieved my hand quickly and pointedly put space between us again during the walk.


    The walk to Hannah and Jorge''s home is a little awkward, with no one speaking from their group, but Cassandra''s eyes focus intently on me each time I glance back in their direction as they follow me. It continues to make me deeply uncomfortable, though I don''t want to show that it does, so I don''t tear my eyes away each time she locks them and instead try to make the gazing away seem casual. I feel as though I''m locked in a staring contest with a predator.


    Finally, we make our way up to the house''s front door, and I jog up the steps and knock on the front door ahead of the six Blackham behind me. I don''t even have time to glance behind me at the others before a vine opens the door. The flowering vine hovers in the doorway for a few moments, seeming to have woven itself in the faint outline of Hannah''s face–it''s strangely clear that it''s inviting us all in on her behalf–before slowly winds itself away along a painting''s frame on the wall. A faint chortle behind me lets me know they all saw the door greeter, so I head inside, looking through doorways as I follow the mossy hallway corridor.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Unlike when Khalil, Aria, Lani, and I visited Hannah and Jorge after our trader trip, most of the vines and flowers seem to be in bloom. The sweet and welcoming scents threaten to carry me away, but I fight down the pleasant feeling. I don''t know who the Blackham are or what they want–for all I know, they might want to take the four of us involved in the trade run back to their town for questioning. The thought of that hardens my resolve, and as I lead them into the sprawling backyard of Jorge and Hannah''s home, I''m confident that I won''t have my thoughts wander from the task at hand.


    Hannah, Jorge, Lani, Aria, and Khalil are seated at a long table woven from thin trees and thick, curling vines. I denote Jorge still looks somewhat angry and hostile, while the others range from indifferent to nervous. Hannah slowly raises a hand from her side and gestures at the seats at the table.


    "Please, all of you, sit. We already have some small food and drink for those who wish to partake."


    Hannah''s calm blue eyes slide across the Blackham before settling on "Cass" for a few moments longer than the rest. She doesn''t add anything, though, instead looking away from the other woman.


    I shuffle ahead of the group, happy to be within closer range to the people I know than the Blackham guests. Kline, followed by Cassandra and then the other four of their group, take a seat at the long table, not seemingly interested in playing nonsense games about who takes what chair. I sit beside Lani, with one open seat on my other side. Across from me directly settles in Cassandra, who pierces me with another intense look. It''s quite distracting, so I purposely stare back at her until Lani nudges me with an elbow. Kline and the others take some food and drink, except for Cassandra, so I do as well to fit in.


    "What''s her deal with you?" Lani murmurs, leaning towards my ear.


    I shake my head slightly as if to say I have no clue. Lani purses her lips and leans back, then takes a sip from her sweet berry tea, stealing a more extended glance at Cassandra over the rim. I suddenly felt the strangest thought: I hadn''t heard Cassandra talk to this point, so maybe I was the one being rude because she was mute or something. Cassandra seemed to smirk right at the moment of my thought, and I narrowed my eyes ever so slightly. That seems to be the key; she shifts her gaze from me towards Kline and then on to Hannah.


    While Kline and Hannah have a two-person conversation, with the occasional Jorge interjection, I sip at my berry tea and nibble a little at the food on the table. I keep catching myself looking at Cassandra and her physical attributes without realizing I''d started doing it. Just little touches of her body angles flicker across my mind''s eye, making me want to keep stealing glances at her. Some part of me wants to kick my own ass, and another part of me is wondering if my brain is trying to make me get my ass kicked. First Aria, and now Cassandra, whom I have yet to speak, know nothing about, and probably don''t even rank with on a scale of one to five? I reach up and rub one of my temples while closing my eyes. The half-hearted massage feels pretty good, so maybe I just need sleep.


    It isn''t until a vivid hallucination of some sort crosses behind my eyes that I start to suspect some weirdness going on: Cassandra holding her lips to my jawline and throat, pressing me against one of the walls of Hannah''s home, with her fingernails scratching at and just underneath the bottom of my old tee along my abdomen. I open my eyes and the–Vision? False memory?–fades away just like a dream. Cassandra is looking intently at me once again. Yep, she''s fucking with me somehow, I can feel it, she just has to be. I cross my arms and glower at her.


    If it makes any difference to her, I can''t even tell. She blinks her startlingly seafoam eyes once, then looks straight back at Hannah and Kline as they debate something about the Deore. I realize I haven''t even the slightest idea of what they''ve spoken about before this point, having been so thoroughly distracted by Cassandra. I shift my weight on my seat uncomfortably, trying to will the heat to bleed out of my cheeks and my brain to return to normal function.


    "Well, perhaps the lost wiretail will give you some clue as to where your associate went. Or was forced off at, I suppose, if we''re sticking to the ''random'' seam theory."


    Voices jut in, bringing me finally back to the present. Kline shakes his head, having leaned back in his seat and taken a more comfortable seating pose for discussion.


    "Even if we could talk to the beast, which we can''t–"


    Hannah snaps her fingers once, interrupting Kline.


    "Khalil can. He will assist you."


    "Ergh–" Khalil choked on the tea he was sipping. "Wait, what?" When Hannah gives him an intensely blank look, he clears his throat and murmurs demurely. "Yeah, alright. Sure. I can do it. I mean, I''ve never talked with one before, but I''m pretty sure I can, uh, probably."


    The pale man, Kline, exhales once while looking at the other Blackham sorted out at the table. Most of them aren''t paying attention, and outside of Cassandra, they have had food and drink (with refills on both).


    "Alright, so we can speak to the beast, assuming Khalil can do so. We''ll test with him on one of ours before we leave your village."


    Khalil loses a little luster when they''re talking about being so close to wiretails. I don''t blame him; they''re scary as hell. Kline continues speaking, seemingly unaware of the borderline anxiety attack Khalil is experiencing in silence.


    "Once we''re sure he can do that, we''ll follow the traveler''s path back to the more or less approximate location where your two people, Orion and Khalil, encountered the feral wiretail. We have trackers, two in fact, and you''ve mentioned that Orion regularly hunts and tracks for your village, so we should have no trouble locating the beast if it''s still in the same general area."


    I realized then that I must have been "voluntold" to do that sometime during my recent hallucination episodes like Khalil just was.


    "We find the feral, speak with it, and collect it from the Wilds so that it does not have the potential chance to harm anyone else. A straightforward goal, unless anyone else has an opinion?"


    "What are your intentions with the information potentially gained from this ''feral'' wiretail?" Aria speaks flatly after leaning forward slowly.


    Eyes shift from Aria to Kline. He smiles, and it''s a smile that isn''t friendly in the slightest. Of course, he doesn''t realize Aria is a redcap, so a grizzly bear in her face wouldn''t scare her, and it makes the little fake smile before whatever he''s about to say a little humorous to us who know that little factoid.


    "Our intentions are to collect information and return to Blackham City, and I don''t believe we need to keep your village involved any more than it already has been. Wouldn''t you agree?"


    "I agree that you''re a pretentious prick, sure." Jorge spits.


    I suck in my lips in an "o" face before I can stop myself. Hannah puts a hand on Jorge''s shoulder.


    "Jorge, my beloved, why don''t you take Lani and Aria out front? I can finish up here. Kline, would you mind sending some of your people out front to wait a few more minutes as well?"


    Kline''s eyes narrow, but when Jorge, Lani, and Aria start to stand and move, he nods a little.


    "Cass, stay. The rest of you can go outside and wait out front. We''ll join you all shortly."


    The four Blackham stand up, and two of them pointedly go out of their way to thank Hannah in a profoundly–and unexpectedly–respectful manner for her hospitality. After bowing their heads to her, they touch two fingers to the center of their foreheads. The other two walk out as commanded, while those two elves that spent the extra few moments paying respect to Hannah finally turn to follow them a little behind their pacing.


    "Now then," Hannah starts again, "a little less hostility and a little smaller of a gathering makes for better discourse, wouldn''t you say?"


    Hannah loosely folds her arms across her abdomen, her eyes searching out Cassandra momentarily before returning her gaze to Kline. Kline lifts his shoulders in what is supposed to be a noncommittal shrug, but seeing those two pay deeper respects to Hannah with no explanation seems to have put him a little off his game. Perhaps he just assumed we were all yokel Wilder like most villages of our kind tend to be.


    "Mmm. Sure. I still don''t see the benefit of sharing any information we gain. At best, it will just cause an inconvenience if your villagers are poking around and getting themselves into any trouble. At worst, perhaps whatever happened in that area will happen again, and some of your people will be lost."


    Hannah tilts her head ever so slightly.


    "Ah, so this is a precautionary measure? How very kind of you to think of our village."


    She says it, and it almost sounds genuine, but it''s most definitely not authentic. Kline isn''t fooled either, which probably was Hannah''s intention.


    "Okay. Okay. Our orders were to gather intelligence and return. We were specifically told not to share information."


    Cassandra leans forward, and for the first time since they''ve arrived, she speaks in a dulcet tone, immediately reminding me of the beautifully dark-tinted voice of the lady who sings that Smooth Operator song.


    "Kline, that''s enough sharing of our intentions here, I think."


    Hannah shifts her gaze towards Cassandra.


    "Hello, I didn''t catch your name?"


    "Cassandra. Unfortunately, I was introduced as ''Cass'' earlier in the evening, but only people who spend a great deal of time with me should call me that." Cassandra answers.


    Kline looks suddenly withdrawn, like a peacock who has been startled and has hidden his plumage.


    "Cassandra, then. Am I right in assuming that you''re leading the group?"


    Cassandra shakes her head once.


    "No. I''m with them for another reason. I work for another individual." She glances momentarily at Kline before speaking again. "We simply work together a lot. It''s also part of a separate agreement with his superior to remind him of certain things occasionally. Enough about me, though. Please continue your discussion."


    I can''t help but stare at Cass–or Cassandra–I remind myself since I haven''t spent time with her (though I''d prefer Cass, my brain yells at me). Luckily, having engaged Hannah and Kline in conversation, she doesn''t seem to notice my staring at her. Her ears aren''t pointed even slightly, so she''s not elf-kin. Her seafoam eyes don''t seem to be tinged with any red or anything else that would tell me what sort of fey she might be, so now, of course, my brain has decided it''s a great mystery to be solved. Hannah''s voice floats in from seemingly far away while I study Cassandra.


    "I will send Khalil and Orion with you under the condition that you share any information you glean about an erratic seam with them, who will then share it with only me in this village. It is non-negotiable."


    Kline looks at Cassandra, who nods, so he nods.


    "Alright then. I''m glad we could work this all out. Anything else?"


    I broke my stare from Cassandra when I realized the meeting was about to end. I clear my throat and take a drink from my now tepid berry tea. The noise of my throat clearing draws everyone''s attention, so I weakly murmur.


    "Dry throat. Sorry."


    Hannah seems amused by that ending to the discourse, and Khalil appears to have finally controlled his anxiety attack. Kline pushes up from the table and stiffly turns to leave, but Cassandra slowly rises. She doesn''t stretch, but for some reason, her smooth movements remind me of a hunting animal slowly measuring up a path to take. I realize my instincts are trying to override my little head''s attempt at direction and give me a huge warning sign above Cassandra''s head. She may be the most dangerous person in that entire group, and I haven''t the faintest idea what she could be. I can''t help it, though; my physical feeling is unreasonably intense–almost to the point of absurdity. I watch her as she leaves, not moving from my place at the table.


    "Might as well go with them and find out if you can speak with wiretails. I''m sure you''ll be fine." Hannah murmurs to Khalil. Khalil apprehensively agrees, then shows himself out, leaving me alone with Hannah.


    "Careful, Orion."


    "Yeah, I know." I sigh. I don''t turn my head to look at Hannah because I already know what it''s about. She tuts a little, rising from her chair and walking to where I sit. She brushes a hand across my shoulder, then leans down.


    "No, you don''t know." Hannah''s voice is more challenging than usual, which draws my attention. I look at her, and she studiously looks at me in response. "You''re of the age where you and your friends start to sow your wild oats, as it were." I start to protest, but her grip on my shoulder tightens, and I understand this is one of those times I''m not to interrupt.


    "But you might have realized that nothing you could do would work against her. Not even basic readings of emotional states." Again, I continue to be quiet, though I do lower my eyes, as I don''t have the courage to stay in a lock-eyed stare with Hannah. "Why do you suppose that is?"


    "I–I don''t know." I shake my head, unable to give her a good answer.


    She steps back and uses her hand on my shoulder to help me rise from my seat. She finally releases her not-quite-vise grip and walks to the other side of the table. She gestures wordlessly at the living chair Cassandra had chosen to sit in. After I walk over to see what Hannah is gesturing at, I stop and gape. The chair Cassandra had been sitting in was absolutely dead. The mossy covering of the ground is even withered and curled in just about the area where her feet rested while she sat.


    "What the hell?!" I blink in shock, not concealing it at all. Hannah shakes her head disappointedly.


    "Now, now, you know this. Just think about the lessons you learned before we let you roam and hunt the Wilds freely."


    I carefully inspected the table where Cassandra had rested her hands on the wood. There were no marks, but the wood on the tabletop was no longer alive.


    "Some kind of a leech of life?"


    Hannah doesn''t respond verbally, but she raises an eyebrow.


    "Oh, wait. Shit. No way. Why would a vampire be here in the Wilds, traveling with Blackham folks of all people?"


    Hannah nods her head once at me, seemingly pleased at not having to tell me the answer and in my follow-up question.


    "That is a good question. They normally stick to the human world for obvious reasons, such as food. Occasionally, they find their way here since our ''sun'' isn''t the sun that destroys them. As far as I know, it is only a mild annoyance, similar to how it is for the night creatures of the deep Wilds. You won''t find them generally near the Aurora tribe''s Shining City, though. I wasn''t aware of any accepted into one of the more organized tribes. Obviously, she is accepted as Blackham in some way based on being given a wiretail to ride, but she made it clear she doesn''t serve Kline, which makes me curious about whom she does serve."


    She drifts off a little with her words before looking back at me.


    "Anyway, that isn''t very important, and speculating about why or who regarding her doesn''t do us any favors, especially when we likely won''t re-encounter her after all this is sorted out. Now then, it''s not my business with whom you get involved, but be very careful of her kind. They aren''t trustworthy; they will not usually agree to anything. If you manage to get them to agree to something, you had better carefully word your agreement terms."


    I''m just looking at Hannah, but I''m not really sure what to make of it all.


    "Oh, and don''t share blood with her."


    I start to protest, but she cuts me off with a shake of her head.


    "Mm-mm, no. We''re not having a debate. I said my piece; you''re grown enough to decide on your own paths, Orion."


    She waves a hand lightly, gesturing me away from her without our normal affectionate departure; I feel guilty for the first time in a while, and I don''t even know why.